


all the cracks in the walls remind you of things we said (but it's just safer to keep you in this heart of mine)

by invictaria



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Kid Fic, Liam and Harry have solo careers, Liam has a son, Louis works as a dj for Radio 1, M/M, Sex Mentions, Slow Burn, Zayn is a record producer with his own label
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 04:12:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11028396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invictaria/pseuds/invictaria
Summary: “How is he?” he asks, laconically. Liam never asked, not after the first months. Somehow, it feels important now.There’s a moment of silence, then:“He still smokes too much. He sleeps a lot less. He's some sort of workaholic. Mostly, i think he's lonely.”Louis chooses carefully what to say. He's giving him something real, because he's loyal to Liam and Liam just asked how is he after years of indifference; but he's also protective, discreet, because Zayn's always his partner in crime and he won't spill his secrets just because Liam asks.His stomach churns nonetheless, the pull of nostalgia harder than he expected.“Why do you ask, Li?”Because I wanted to know. I always want to know. Because it’s been eight years and my life is a mess, so I hoped his was at least fixed up. Because i don’t know what to do and i need a sign and everything is pointing to us.It's 2023, and a lot has changed, but a lot has remained the same. So, even after eight years of radio silence, anger and heartbreak, they still manage to find their way back to each other.





	all the cracks in the walls remind you of things we said (but it's just safer to keep you in this heart of mine)

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU bc even if Zayn leaves 1d, he does so differently than how that actually happened. Please, bear with me.

He's late.

Per se, that's not an uncommon occurrence. Liam's always pretty much late, these days, running out of time without even realizing it, rushing from place to place like he can't help but forget the meaning of minutes and seconds.  
Still, it feels strange. Like an habit he never really grew into, something that doesn't really belong to him, like a borrowed sweater which fits too tight on the shoulders.

_I like to be on time. I like to be on time so I can be prepared. I like to be on time so i don't feel like i'm missing out on something._

He said that to Louis, once. He can't even remember when, but it feels like a lifetime ago. 

The traffic is insane. He's got a flight to New York to catch in less than an hour and all he can see through the mirrors are long lines of cars, slowly proceeding along the highway, and all he can think about is Alex's little frown, his tiny pout as he says _but you promised you'd be here this time_ , tone resigned like he's facing a lost cause.

_Fuck._

He just thought that being in Los Angeles for a few weeks would be helpful for his writer’s block. A bit more color, fresh air, other people to talk to. But apparently a change of scenery means shit when you don't even know what you want to say, who you want to say it and why you want to say it in the first place, and yet you refuse to ask for someone's help. And who fucking cares if you won a fucking bunch of Grammys for your last album.

And now, now he's most likely going to miss his son's seventh birthday.

_Fuck._

Then a song comes on the radio.

“I never wanted you to see / what’s really inside me / so i’ve gone too far to hide / and you left me black and blue behind.”

He has never heard it, he's sure of that, but it still gives him goosebumps all over.

There’s two voices, soft and slow and so fucking rich of shades, and they sound achingly familiar, melting over the sweetest, most heartfelt harmonies. And the base is sick, an old school r&b jam that still manages to feel fresh and vibrant. Even the lyrics are great, raw and honest and the right kind of emotional, so much that Liam can actually feel his heartbeat speed up, like he’s still fourteen years old and easily amazed by what music can make him feel. 

It's incredible, because it's just so effortless. So simple, hitting straight to the heart. It's everything music should be, everything he would like his music to be (something capable to amaze whoever listens to it, no matter what they're doing). 

Liam’s hands are trembling on the steering wheel when the last note is still fading.

“... and that would be the new single from the upcoming sixth album of our very own Mr. Ocean! Well well, we can say that London has been a really good choice for him, can't we? Or maybe, it’s just all about his new creative partnership, who inspired such a sublime work...”

Frank Ocean?

Frank Ocean.

Of course it was Frank Ocean. Liam should have known that falsetto without even thinking. 

_That’s why it sounded so familiar. Well, Frank, A+ because you still manage to give me butterflies in my stomach even after all these years in the business._

Once upon a time, Liam would have known that falsetto without even think. 

He’d have recognized that voice with the same precise certainty of any devoted fan, cutting straight to the truth on the first bunch of notes, easily as breathing. _nostalgia, ULTRA_ and _channel ORANGE_ had been part of the soundtrack of his life when he was still in One Direction: Liam listened to them when he broke up with Danielle and when they toured in the USA for the first time, when he first met Sophia, after all those years apart, and when his grandfather died and he couldn’t get to his funeral. Every emotion of the human spectrum, of his own emotional spectrum, Liam had found it in those two albums.  
Then, when everything went to shit and he had to learn how to stand on his own two legs, all the memories intertwined with those melodies became unbearable, and Liam didn’t hesitate on hitting the “remove” button on his iTunes Library to get rid of them: the only shame was that he couldn’t do the same with the pain itself.

Mostly, it was hard to forget the one person who shared his earphones every night, falling asleep on his shoulder as they reached End and listened to the quiet sound of the raindrops falling down. 

_Don’t go there, not now, not today. You don’t have time for that._

“... well, for sure the song screams Black Swan Records, right? Zayn Malik really put his magic to work...”

How something like this can feel like a caress on the cheek and a punch in the gut at the same time is a complete mystery, but that's exactly what it is.

Zayn. Of all the people in the world, this song belongs to Zayn. Zayn is the one who made it. _Zayn is the second voice._

“... The hottest producer of the moment, isn't he? He put singing aside and created from scratch his own company, becoming a regular in Justin Bieber’s crowd, and now he's the main signature on Frank Ocean's new album. And he's only thirty! And he's even got the looks! I mean, what more can you ask for?"

_He put singing aside._

But. It was his voice. The harmonies which gave him chills were leaded by Zayn. It was undoubtedly his voice.  
The same Zayn who was his bandmate for years.  
The same Zayn who sang with him a thousand times, in a venue as well as in a fucking bathroom, after a drunken night out.  
The same Zayn who just produced Frank Ocean's new album, god.  
The same Zayn Liam hadn't recognized from his first note (how?).  
The same Zayn who hadn't spoke to him in almost eight years.

_How is it possible to be so close to someone, to be so synched and settled around someone, to the point you breath is their breath and your step is their step and your voice is their voice and you don't really understand where you end and the other person begins, and have that kinda connection be broken? How can you just accept that?_

It's not like he hasn't heard about what he's been doing in these years. If not from the other boys, it'd have been from the press and the old fans and just random people, really: slowly building a name for yourself, working hard behind the scenes, creating your own label and making gold out of whatever you touch while you pretty much avoid all the fuss around fame by simply ignoring every official event you're invited to is pretty much impressing even when you are not Zayn Malik, ex boybander from One Direction.  
It's hard to not feel proud and full of a sense of accomplishment, even from afar, even surrounded by silence and unanswered questions, when the one person you always admired the most finally gets the universal recognition they deserve, right?  
Yet, it's a surprise. It's huge. It's great. And it stings.

_Do you remember how many times we shared a pair of headphones over channel ORANGE, dreaming about something like this? Or you forgot about that too?_

_So much for not going there._

“... speaking of ex-One Direction, rumor has it that Liam Payne is still stalling in the creative process of recording his new album. British answer to Justin Timberlake seems to be unable to get the right sound on the studio, and after Dancing in Slow Motion we all have quite the expectations, so he's really stuck between a rock and a hard place. We can only dream about a collaboration with Malik...”

His ears are still buzzing from the tune and the unexpected discovery, and his heart seems to be pumping with a indecisive rhythm, like it can't figure out if he's allowed to be excited and sad at the same time, but that last comment almost makes him laugh.  
It’s not even the rumors about his actual lack of inspiration, it’s just... A collaboration, right.

Zayn is the one who decided they were done, as a band as well as mates. 

Liam's the one that still doesn't get it, doesn't get why, doesn't get what has he done to be the only one of them to be cut out so abruptly and forcefully from his life. Even after all this time, it’s still a sore spot.

_It was me and you. It was me and you until it was you and the rest of the world except for me, right?_

He can’t even imagine what would be like to work with him. Being in the studio together after eight years of radio silence, of avoided phone calls and unread emails. Being so close to touch him, mostly: to punch him, to hold his wrist.  
So much has changed for them both that working together can’t be an option: that’s what remains of a friendship he thought would be a lifelong brotherhood.

He keeps both his hands on the steering wheel, but his fingers itch with the need of a cigarette.

The buzz of his iPhone gets him out of his thoughts. Sophia is calling, and it’s the perfect reality check: he’s still in the same car, stuck on the road with the fucking radio as the only company, his soon-to-be ex wife is calling him and he probably will not be there when his son will blow off the candles on his cake. That’s his life, right now, right there.

_Fuck._

*

(This is how it starts:

“I think we should cut him out. He hasn’t show up and he’s not taking any calls, what if he does something like that while we’re rehearsing? Or worse, performing in front of Simon. It’s not like we can say _Oh, bummer, Zayn disappeared again! Such a scallywag, that Zayn!_ as an explanation.”

Louis’ tone is mostly bored as he speaks, like he doesn’t really care; his eyes are fixed on the ceiling and he’s idly playing with Harry’s curls, since the lad is completely pressed against his side, and Liam can’t really figure out how can they be so at ease with each other, laughing and talking and _touching_ all the freaking time, since they barely know each other. 

Not that Liam’s judging, mind, especially since he’s too busy freaking out.

“I think we should wait for him a little more. He seems nice, you know? I think he’s just a bit shy and overwhelmed. Maybe we scared him off.”

It’s possible that Harry’s the slower speaker in the entire world, but his words are soft and gentle and he’s rubbing his cheek against Louis’ shoulder just like a kitten and Liam calms down a little just watching him.

It’s not like they can throw Zayn out without everyone consent, right?

Fact is, Liam is pretty sure that he needs Zayn’s presence if he’s gonna do this.

It’s not like Liam doesn’t like the other lads, honestly, but they’re a bit… _too much_ for him?  
Louis is so loud and outspoken and mischievous, Harry’s really charming and cheeky and Niall’s just so cool because he doesn’t give a fuck about anything and he's always looking at the bright side of things, and they already get along so well it seems like they know each other since they were toddlers.  
And he’s… Well, Liam’s not like that: he’s not loud nor outspoken, he’s quite the opposite of charming and he worries a lot about anything, especially about singing. He’s just Liam, and this isn’t even a matter of low self esteem, because he knows he can sing and that he has the right to be in the group: it’s just that he doesn’t know how to act, what to say, how to be around these boys.  
But Zayn, Zayn is something else entirely. Not that they spoke too long, actually, but he seems different, more like Liam: he doesn’t laugh too loud and he doesn’t run all over the place and he doesn’t touch him too much (honestly), and he has a really good voice. He seems polite and he listens carefully to what people say to him: there’s something about him that is calming, and when they’d been put together in the group, Liam thought _maybe._

_Maybe._

_Maybe we can make it. Maybe we can support each other in this storm._

And he’s still not entirely sure about this band thing: sometimes it feels like patching up his dream after fucking it up for the second time, like some sort of consolation prize, but other times (most of the time) he just wants to win. He wants to win so badly he can barely breathe, and this is his winning chance, his only chance, so he has to take it, right?

“I think we should just chill. Maybe he forgot about the meeting, maybe he got stucked with something at home, maybe he’s sleeping, I don’t know. He seems like a good lad, let’s give him some time.”

Niall speaks with his mouth full of chips, the image of ease while Louis throws him a balled up paper towel, dislodging Harry in the process, wailing _Don’t speak when your mouth is full, you animal!_

“He’s got a really nice voice. It would be bad for us to lose that kind of talent, i think. And also, he seems really, really polite and i don't think he ditched us just to fuck around? We can’t throw him out like this?”

It ends up feeling more like a question than a statement, but his tone is mostly firm and it's probably the first time Liam expresses his thoughts in front of them without worrying about what they would say back, how annoying he was being.  
He's speaking directly to Louis, like he's an opponent and this is a challenge, so he looks him in the eyes and doesn't even blink, a loosely closed fist resting on his thigh.  
Whatever Liam was expecting, a joke, a laugh, a punch line, that's not the case; Louis looks back, hand still on Harry's nape, and he is smiling. 

He has a really nice smile, Louis, when he's not just grinning or smirking: his lips curve up sweetly, and his eyes crinkle up so much they seem tiny little half moons. It's so genuine he can't help but smile him back, caught up in this unexpected moment of sympathy.

“Well, I was just saying… But if you're all so adamant about it, we can definitely keep him. Fuck me if i give up on the one lad that seems mysterious enough to be a decent partner in crime!”)

 

*

When Liam finally gets to the LAX, his flight has already departed, and there's no other flight for at least four hours. He can't even curse.

He's wandering through the airport shops, hands in his pockets, face hidden under a snapback and a pair of sunglasses that are totally out of context since he’s indoors, but people all around barely notice him as they come and go along the halls.

He's still thinking about Sophia's words.

_What do you mean you're not gonna make it on time? Do you realize it's his birthday, right?! For fuck's sake Liam, you promised him you'd be here, you did it! You haven't bothered to come here during the holidays, you haven't seen him for almost two months and now you're ditching him again, on his birthday! How is this fair to him, to me?! You wanted me to stay in the States for what? So you could do your parenting on FaceTime? Do you even realize you're always breaking his heart?_

He didn’t know what to answer, how to pick his words, so he’s remained silent until she just hung up, her dry _fuck you, Liam, don't even bother to show up anymore_ in sharp contrast to the little sob he heard before the line got silent.

He never thought that a broken marriage would feel so similar to being fourteen and alone in his bedroom, eyes fixed on the ceiling and heart bleeding as he repeated to himself _i can’t i can’t i just can’t._

Back then, he couldn’t face the cruelty of his classmates, he couldn’t escape the weight of constantly feeling invisible, put in a corner, silenced by everyone around him. He just felt so powerless, trapped in a reality he couldn’t seem to change. 

But now. Now he can’t talk to Sophia. He can’t look her in the eyes. 

Liam doesn’t know how they became like this, formal and exasperated and bitter in every single exchange, when he stopped seeing her as the one person he could always come to; slowly, but definitively, they drifted apart and silence became such a big part of their relationship that talking, right now, feels like a futile attempt to explain something they both have no words to describe properly.

_I never thought I could fall out of love with you._

Sophia was the first girl to understand him. To fall in love with him as a whole. To make him feel like her love could empower him, protect him like a shield, instead of being a crack in his armor.  
She’s been the first girl to make him feel like a man, the first girl he held at night thinking _i could grow old in your arms._  
She’s the one who was by side when the band imploded, when he learned how to be on stage on his own.  
She’s the mother of his child.  
In his mind, Liam shaped their future so many times and their lives were always so deeply intertwined he couldn’t image a moment where she’d not be around, a moment where their feelings would change, a moment where they’d need a clean cut called _divorce._  
And yet, it still happened. Without a reason, a cause, it just happened and it’s been a year and still he just can’t cope with this simple fact. He can’t cope with the disillusionment that follows looking your wife in the eyes and thinking _i thought you were my soulmate and that what we had was forever but it just didn't last._  
Looking at her is just a reminder, so he can’t look.

_You used to sleep holding my shirt, to laugh against my neck, to kiss my nose, and now you’re too close and too far, just out of my reach._

Sophia, more than anything, was his partner. She was his partner for so long that seeing her as someone that doesn’t belong with him anymore feels like a cosmic joke. And that isn't even the worst thing.

The worst thing is how much this affects Alex. How much this fuck up with his life. 

_I don’t want to break his heart. I’d tear apart my own before willingly breaking his. It’s just that apparently i don’t know how to be a father if i’m not also a husband, and this is so fucked up i can’t even explain._

His phone starts buzzing again in his pocket, forcing him out of his thoughts for the second time.  
When he takes it out, the name on the display fixes a hesitant smile on his lips.

“Hey, Tommo.”

“Payno, i’m delighted to hear from you, really, but you’re not the one i was looking for. I actually called for my grandson, maybe you heard about him: his name is Alex, he's a pirate and today he gets really really old, almost as old as me, so i need talk to him about the future of his ship and crew and the appropriate length for a cool beard. Where’s the birthday boy? Lemme speak to him right now.”

It’s possible that Louis will never ever change, even at thirty-two. He sounds like a petulant child, and Liam can almost picture him, the way he’s probably wrinkling his nose, the exact curve of his lips as he speaks, the sparkle of amusement in his eyes. As odd as it seems, this consistency of character is almost heartbreaking.

“Uhm, i don’t think it’s possible right now. I’m still in Los Angeles.”

“What do you mean you’re still in LA? I was pretty shit in maths, but I can still count time zones… What the fuck, Liam? You know that a seven years old's birthday party can’t start after the sun goes down, right?”

Louis is his best friend. Louis has been his best friend for years, probably even before One Direction were over.  
Liam always loved the boys equally, really, but Louis has been the one to teach him the deepest meaning of camaraderie, to listen and to shelter him whenever he needed. As much as he acts as the perfect troublemaker, he's one of the most perceptive, thoughtful people Liam ever met, and he always took care of them, of him, like they were his first responsibility.  
So, Louis knows exactly how to interpret his silence, his long, ragged breath.

“You should just ask for some help, you know? There's nothing wrong in being stuck. You've been working non stop since we were kids, but it's been almost three years since Dancing in Slow Motion. And shit happened, and you are not okay. You're drowning a bit.”

His tone is soothing, calm, like he’s speaking to a child, like he actually believes it's okay if Liam's a fuck up father and a soon-to-be failed solo artist, like this is not the end of the world and he's just waiting for Liam to understand it too.  
He feels a lump in his throat, and for a moment he misses him so much that his bones ache.

_I'm having a proper meltdown in one of the biggest airports of the world, I can't be with my son on his birthday and the one thing that's keeping me sane is talking to a best friend who's literally on the other side of the world. How is this happened to me._

He stops in front of a bookshop. 

There's a gigantic poster of Harry's latest album just outside the entrance, and it says that it came out two days before.

Life is just so fucking ironic sometimes, yeah?

The cover is minimalistic, black with a intricate, almost geometrical pattern of white flowers, similar to something you could see on a persian rug, similar to something he saw like a million times doodled on papers forgotten on their old tour bus. The title - ironically, _untitled_ \- is scribbled on the bottom right angle, a rudimental font that harmonizes perfectly with the rest of the picture. 

He doesn't know if he's been blind to this kinda thing until now, some sort of self preservation mechanism kicking in, or if this is just now becoming so painfully obvious and inevitable.

“Some people on the radio said I should collaborate with Zayn. It would mostly become a certain number one, you know, with how great he's doing right now.”

His tone is mostly mocking, almost sarcastic, but his voice still trembles a little in the end, exposing a touch of his true emotions.  
He doesn't even know why he says it. Just like he doesn't know why he enters in the shop. Or maybe he does, maybe he’s just doing it because it’s been a shitty day in a pretty shitty few months, and he’s tired of pretending to have forgotten about them all. 

He doesn’t even remember how long it's been since they just stopped talking about Zayn.

If Louis is surprised by his terrible joke, he doesn't show.

“If that's what you need, why not? I'd definitely put it on my show, and you know how much Radio 1 still matters in our old dear motherland.”

The reply is unexpected. Light, almost, with just a hint of seriousness.

He's right in front of the stand of Harry's cds, and he picks one from the closest pile. The plastic feels smooth under his fingertips, unexpectedly warm.

“How is he?” he asks, laconically. Liam never asked, not after the first months. Somehow, it feels important now. 

There’s a moment of silence, then:

“He still smokes too much. He sleeps a lot less. He's some sort of workaholic. Mostly, i think he's lonely.”

Louis chooses carefully what to say. He's giving him something real, because he's loyal to Liam and Liam just asked _how is he_ after years of indifference; but he's also protective, discreet, because Zayn's always his partner in crime and he won't spill his secrets just because Liam asks.  
His stomach churns nonetheless, the pull of nostalgia harder than he expected.

“Why do you ask, Li?”

_Because I wanted to know. I always want to know. Because it’s been eight years and my life is a mess, so I hoped his was at least fixed up. Because i don’t know what to do and i need a sign and everything is pointing to One Fucking Direction._

“I heard Frank Ocean’s new tune on the radio... It was so brilliant I could actually feel butterflies in my stomach, you know? The harmonies were so powerful and just so good I got goosebumps all over. I just thought that’s exactly what I’d want for my new album, that’s the sound, that’s the vibe, the right feelings. And it was his voice, you know? It was his voice and I barely recognized him. Nobody recognized him. I just thought it was unreal, how brilliant the harmonies were, but I couldn’t connect the dots until they said his name when the song was over, and they just talked about how he produced it.” 

He doesn’t need to add the unspoken _it broke my heart that i couldn’t recognize him on the very first note_ , because Louis gets it. Louis gets it like no one else could.

“I played Harry’s new single on my show. It’s a great song, you know? Really great. Always had a lovely voice, but now that he’s singing his own lyrics… However, I played it off like it was no biggie, like it was just any other song on the charts, like _hey, that’s the new tune from my mate Harry, you know, the one I used to be in a band with, do you remember that?._ Well, at the end of the song I was so choked up I needed to go on a commercial break.”

It’s not common for Louis to share this kinda thing.  
It’s not like he’s cold or keeps his distance (that’s never been a problem with Louis, really), but he’s always been pretty pudic in his displays of sentiment, finding incredibly hard to fight his natural tendency to be reserved and guarded when his most intimate feelings become a topic of discussion, too used to being the big brother, the one who always had to be strong for anyone around him to just let go. And Harry is still the hardest topic to deal with.  
Liam can’t imagine what must be like breaking up with someone without ever falling out of love with them.

_How come we are so fucked up even after all this time?_

“I really miss you, Lou.” 

“I miss you, too. I’m still waiting the moment you’ll get your shit together and come home. But now is not the right time to talk about this, alright, so go to your son and give him all the presents he deserves, mh? It’s my godson we’re talking about here, you know?! And call me if you need anything, ok? You're not the only one who feels all messed up.”

The line goes down without a goodbye. 

_Come home._

_I can't I can't I can't._

It's not that simple anymore, isn't it? He can't run to Louis like he ran to his parents when he was a child, even if that's the only thing he wants to do right now: when you are on your own it doesn't work like that, it'd be like a total defeat. It'd make getting back on his own two feet even more harder.

_You can't always hide behind someone's back when you're not ready to face reality._

But even then, he thinks about looking Alex in the eyes after such a gigantic failure and his heart burns.

Liam’s still holding Harry’s cd when the speaker announces that the flight for London Heathrow from British Airways would depart in forty-five minutes. 

It's silly, but the ten seconds following that announcement probably represent the closest Liam's ever come to believe that maybe divine providence might exist. Forget the _we'd like to see you in a band_ , forget the roar of the crowds getting louder and louder night after night, that's it: every little thing happened during the day lining up just to point unequivocally to this moment, this choice, this one exit. Going back to London. Going home. Changing perspective. Not hiding, but leaning on someone. Asking for help where he knows he'll not be turned down.  
The rush of relief that floods through him at the mere thought of actually doing it is so intense that for a moment he can't hear anything over the sound of his own blood pumping in his ears.  
And maybe it’s just that Liam’s tired, maybe he needs this because right now he’s too vulnerable and upset to stay, maybe he’s just going with his gut because he can’t resonate with his brain anymore. But.

It all happens really fast:

He pays the cd.

He snaps a photo and he sends it to an old number.

He writes, _Hey curly, lookkk what i found!! I need you to cme pick me uppp tmr morning at Heathrow! Then’ll tell u what i think abt it ;) ps. don’t tell anybody i’m coming!!!_

He books his new ticket.

When Liam just sat down on the plane, he gets a text: _Your wish is my command, former brother in arms. Brekkie is on you! :) ps. i’m really glad you asked me._

Liam turns his phone off and closes his eyes, head spinning up with a new whirlwind of thoughts.

*

It's still dark when they land. 

Liam barely slept, too nervous and restless to close his eyes for too long, so he’s the first one to collect his things and get off the plane, passport at hand for security procedures.

He's not so sure about his choice anymore, now that the Atlantic is behind his back and the blind panic he felt in that bunch of hours stuck at the airport is almost under control, but he can't say he regrets taking the plane per se, and that's the real problem, probably.  
Liam wanted to do that, to escape, but in the daylight it all feels so childish and reckless and random, so stupid and selfish and unnecessary.  
He's not used to act by the spur of the moment, nor to be so overdramatic: it's upsetting to discover himself so vulnerable and unstable now, to start doing so when he's thirty, with a family (in pieces, but still a family) to worry about.

 _Fuck_ , Liam hasn't even called Sophia to let her know that he wasn't coming for real. He hasn't wished Alex happy birthday.

_How could you just do that, how could you be such a prick to your own family?_

_Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck everything fuck me._

Since sleep was out of the question, he spent the night listening to Harry's album, seeking for some sort of comfort in his voice, and it's really good. 

Mostly, it's an acoustic guitar that goes along with his bare singing, but what makes it so precious is the consistency of the lyrics: the grace and the softness of his writing doesn't need much more than his raspy, sensual voice to enchant and deliver, to the point that anything else would probably feel unnecessary, a distraction from the actual magic already happening in the songs.  
It's always been like that, with Harry: he's always been so lovely and different and special that he just stood out wherever he went just for being himself, and anything else around him (famous cliques, PR stunts, mediatic frenzy), rather than something to make him shine out even more, always felt like an obnoxious attempt to shield his light.

And it's really different from his own music, even more so from their past music: it's less dancy, more intimate and thoughtful, the kind of tune you can listen to when you want to have a little moment for yourself, with your eyes closed and your headphones on, the kind of tune you can just feel, keep close to your heart. It just suits him. It suits the man Harry become.

When Liam finally gets outside, bag on his shoulder and snapback on, the palest sun got out, the air is chilly and the lightest rain is falling, slow and yet with a peculiar rhythm; it's so thin and inconsistent on his skin that it almost feels like the touch of a ghost, and that's exactly what you would expect from London on a random day of April, right, but it's been so long and Liam can feel his ribcage just expanding.

He’s just lit a cigarette when a familiar voice reaches him. 

“Has anybody told you that you have the worst habit for someone who’s so keen on being healthy?”

For all that his music changed so much over the years, Harry’s appearance remained close to the one in his memories: his battered chelsea boots seem ready to tell a thousand stories, his legs seem to go on for miles and his broad shoulders still manage to look tiny in his oversized black sweater, the loose neck showing the profile of his pale collarbones and the first ink lines from the brutal declaration of love he made when he was barely eighteen.  
He pierced both of his lobes and his curls are wild, partially escaping the messy bun on top of his head, but what gets to Liam the most is the sudden explosion of _greengreengreen_ when their eyes finally met, the surge of affection that almost chokes him just from seeing him, his little brother. 

Liam lets the cigarette fall and pushes forward, adam’s apple bobbing as he embraces him, a hand on his nape crumpling Harry’s hair, holding him close. He laughs softly when Harry hugs him back, almost purring from affection, pushing his forehead in the crook of Liam’s neck and managing to make himself smaller even when he’s always the tallest between them.

“It’s really good to see you, Haz,” he murmurs, voice a little quivery as he plays with Harry’s hair, mouth close to his ear. For an irrational moment, Liam almost doesn’t want to let go.

“Niall says you’re a little shit because you told him nothing and that he expects you to come say hi really really soon. I’m sorry, but i was at his house when you wrote, we’re getting the nursery ready and i couldn’t lie to him, he always knows when i’m lying!” 

Liam snorts, imagining what kind of nursery Niall and Harry could ever assemble together, and in this way it's easier to relieve the knot in his throat. It's easier to step back, just a little, just enough to look at him.

Niall is going to be a dad in less than two months. 

It's a baby girl, and he's already so in love with her that he wrote an entire album imagining what it would be like to hold her, to smell her, to make her smile.  
He sent some demos over the last couple of months ('my fingers hurt, i played so hard!! Haha!!'), along with images of the ultrasounds ('that's my little bean, ha! xxx') and pictures of the tiniest, prettiest little dresses Liam’s ever seen ('can u imagine how small they can be??? alex never was so small, mate, i can't believe they have such tiny little feet ohmygod???') and every time Liam unlocked his phone to find his messages he couldn't help but call him, fondness and longing so perfectly mixed that he wasn't able to part one from the other while they caught up.

He never stopped talking to Niall, over the years. 

The thing about Niall is that he has the steadiness of an old oak, whose roots are so thick and so deep in the ground (family home love hard work honesty smiles) that whenever the storm may come, it will never find him unprepared, it will never break him; and that's the reason they all keep clinging on him, the one intersection point to the different lives they have built for themselves over the years, always returning to him like he's the safest place on earth.  
It's not the same relationship Liam has with Louis, because it lacks of that mutual neediness and effortless understanding, but it's close.  
Closer than Harry. Infinitely more intimate than the stone cold silence between him and Zayn.  
Talking with Niall is easy, because he's probably the less judgemental person in the world, and nothing ever seems to faze him: he's not always capable of empathize the way Louis does, because his grounded nature always meant Niall never needed to seek for balance outside himself, unlike Liam (or Louis), and sometimes he just can’t get what they’re talking about, but he's so very observant and and focused when he needs to be, and he has the power to make Liam feel settled, to unfold every situation until it feels smaller, less scary, _manageable._

“I bet Barbara must be thrilled to have you both working hard on that. I just can imagine the amazement in her eyes when she's gonna see the crooked crib, the toys all over the place because they're simply too many and there's no space left to store them, but mostly the fifteen different colours you choose to paint the walls since _every colour has its meaning and it wouldn't be nice to just choose one and ignore the others_ , right? She's gonna be so excited.”

Harry pouts, pushing him away lightly, while Liam laughs with much more sentiment than before, and some things just never change. He rubs Harry's cheek affectionately, and his skins is cold under his own fingertips. Liam barely noticed before, but he's slightly wet from the rain.

“I'll have you know, Liam, that we painted with only four colors, one for each wall, thank you very much. And it's not my fault if the crib is actually crooked, Niall refused to look up the instructions saying _'I got it Haz, don't worry, i can see it in my mind'_!”, he replies, his tone childish and petulant, slapping Liam’s hand away while making a pretty decent impression of Niall's thick accent.

“And what about the toys?”

“I'm the godfather, Liam. What did you expect, that I'd neglect the child? My goddaughter? Before she's even born?”

“Oh my god, Haz, you are so hopeless," Liam keeps laughing, and it's all good and familiar and warm, and for a moment it seems like they do this all the time, like before.

“Are you really sure you want a ride? Because if you keep mocking me, i'm not sure i can get you in my car!”

“Alright, alright, Jesus. Lead me to your wonderful ride, please.”

They walk to the parking lot keeping their heads down, just in case someone might recognize them. It's an old habit, trying to avoid the looks of people in such a massive, public place, even if it's been years since the last proper mob they experienced.  
Also, Liam doesn't know about Harry, but he doesn't really feel like smiling and chatting with anyone. It probably would break the fragile quiet that seeing Harry settled in his chest.

“Hey, don't worry, that's my car," Harry says, brushing his shoulder with a tiny nudge, leaving him a couple of steps behind as he goes to open the boot. “Here, give me your bag.”

“Thanks, mate. Also, thank you for coming, I really appreciate that.”

_I can't tell you how much but I hope you get it nonetheless._

“As I already said, I'm glad you asked me,” and the smile he gives Liam while saying those words is so sweet and blinding and Harry that he can't help but smile back with endearment.

They sit in the car, a black Range Rover with leather seats that practically purrs when Harry starts it, and they remain silent for a while. There's so much to say, but he has no idea about how to start. Even if it's early, the exit is already clogged by cars.

“So… Did you actually like my album?” 

Harry spares Liam the embarrassment of awkwardly initiate the conversation, giving him the time and opportunity to choose what to say in the mid of an idle chat. For someone so clumsy, he's always been admirably graceful around people's feelings.

“Yes. Yes! I liked it a lot, i bought the cd at the airport then i downloaded it from iTunes. It's really good, Haz. I can't even pick one song! Maybe the number 7, what is its title?”

“Oh, do you mean Cherry Mouths?”

“That one, yeah. The lyrics are really a work of beauty, and so is your voice. And that verse about growing up in the shape of someone else's embrace, god, Haz, that's incredible. I'm actually proud, you know? You did a great job.”

Harry remains silent for a moment, a tiny crinkle between his eyebrows; he tries to keep a neutral expression, but then his face unfolds, lips curved in a lopsided smile that seems more like a frown, and for the first time he actually seems as old as he really is.

“I don't know if I was more drunk or sad the night i wrote that song. It's actually an old one, I wrote it just a couple of months after the split but I've never been comfortable enough to share it. Until now, I mean. I figured it was really time to move on, fuck youth and lost innocence and heartbreak, yeah?”

He keeps his gaze on the road, but Liam can sense that he's actively avoiding eye-contact.  
Unconsciously, he keeps touching his collarbones, right over the birds, almost as if they itch, like they were a scar, and for a long moment Liam wants to grab his hand and just hold it.  
It's so easy to forget he's not the only one who lost his ground when One Direction were done.  
While they were on the band, Liam spent so much time putting someone else's feelings before his own, always trying to please his parents and everyone who believed in him and to avoid upsetting fans and press and management, that when everything was over it all felt too personal, like it wasn't fair to be so alone in that kind of pain when he tried so hard to share so equally his happiness.  
It was painful and and it was strange, because it was also the first time since they were put together that the five of them couldn't share the feeling.  
But fact is, he wasn't even the one who got hit harder, because he had Sophia and their fresh marriage to hold on to, while Harry faced all that right after breaking up with Louis.  
At that time, Liam thought they'd made up and got through that rough patch, stronger than before, just because they were Harry and Louis and in no universe it made sense for them to be apart. But then shit happened, the band broke up and their distance became some sort of permanent.  
Harry lost the band, but mostly Louis, and he had to cope under the scrutiny of millions.  
He was always the most popular one, the one to cause the biggest hysteria, the one to attract the most morbose reactions, but he never had to feel alone facing all that cruelty and insanity, not like that, and he was just so young. It was the first time someone truly broke his heart, and he had to share his feelings with the rest of the world, helpless in front of fame and the media's circus which had waited for years to see something like that happen.  
And Liam knows, knows because he'd seen him and it hurt, knows because he felt helpless too, just looking at Harry from afar, because he stood by Louis the whole time and Harry was always with Zayn and at that time it didn't feel like they were choosing, but maybe they were, because from then everything became so much harder.

“I don't know anymore about youth and lost innocence, but definitely fuck heartbreak,” Liam says, and he means that, for him and for Louis and for Harry too.

_Fuck heartbreak._

“But still, thank you. It means a lot to me that you liked it. The fans are lovely, but they're always lovely, they'd be lovely even if I sang rubbish. And I can't really trust critics, they keep comparing me to all of you and what we were, and it drives me crazy!”

He goes for light and he mostly succeeds, the note of strained enthusiasm almost imperceptible if it wasn't for the fact that Liam still knows him too well. He keeps drumming on the steering wheel, long fingers bare except for one old ring on his index.

_It means something because you know I'm not that kid anymore. It means something because you know me for who I really am. It means something because I’m a man now, and I became a man on my own and I can see in your eyes that you get it._

“There’s nothing to compare. You are you, just like I am me, and we don’t always have to be some fucking ghosts from the past, right? Life goes on, people move on, art reinvents itself and so do we. You’ve done something great, Harry. Don’t let anybody tell you any different, because they’re wrong.” 

There’s a moment of silence, and then:

“I’m getting a divorce.”

It's not pretty, but now is out there.  
It's just one thing among the thousands Liam actually wants to say, but it's the ugliest and the heaviest so, for some fucked up reason, it deserves to be the first in line.

“I'm getting a divorce and I can't seem to be able to write down some music since I don't even know how long. Yesterday was Alex's birthday and Sophia yelled at me because since we split up I became the shittiest father on Earth and I missed it. And since I'm a fucking prick, I thought it was okay to run back home because I felt upset about it. Without even telling her.”

It's easier, once he gets started.  
Harry doesn't say anything, like he doesn't want to be impolite and interrupt, but he's listening, responding with tiny little nods, eyes sharp on the road.  
The city is getting closer just like the sun is getting a bit warmer, and there's something that words fail to describe in the architecture and colors and profiles that surround him, the feeling of home and the sense of belonging England always lights up in Liam’s veins, a natural response that's impossible to recreate in any other part of the world, as familiar and dear as it may be.

“I don't know what am I doing, mate. I'm hurting them but I can't find the strength to act differently. And I'm scared. And ashamed. I'm almost thirty, I'm a father and I'm scared, does this make any sense?”

 _They're all I've got_ , he wants to add.  
_They're all I've got and I've lost them too, just like I've lost you lot, so what the fuck is wrong with me that I keep losing the most important people in my life?_ , he wants to say, but words can't seem to pass the knot in his throat.

“There's nothing wrong in being scared, you know. Nor in coming back to people who can support you. You're just human, and despite the expectations you may have, no one's surprised about this fact but yourself.”

Harry always liked to remember Liam about his fallibility, something the other people in his life tended to avoid instead, knowing his maniacal overachieving tendencies got along all too well with his blind headstrongness. In the past, this kinds of remarks were mostly a mockery, a joke between them, because getting on each other nerves was just as important as protecting themselves from the world outside, but now they taste differently, like some sort of consolation, a soothing balsam for his burning pride.

“Have you ever asked yourself when it all went to shit? What's the real problem that's messing everything else up? For my experience, one always knows, they just don't want to actually stop and acknowledge the truth for what it is. I, for one, always knew. And I think, deep down, you know too. Being scared is okay, but being a coward isn't, so stop hiding and start looking for your answers.”

They're finally in the city, palaces and roads sliding fast at his side, and Liam doesn't know how to reply to such a piercing observation.  
The sharpness of Harry's reasoning is too much for him right now, after such a long flight and an even longer dayful of events before, but maybe is just that Liam’s never been capable to get to the core of things in the same way, cutting all the surrounding bullshit and going straight to the heart. So, he just closes his eyes and presses his forehead against the cold glass, breathing slowly in and out.

He doesn't even realize when Harry stops the car, until he speaks again.

“I hate sleeping alone. I hate living alone. That's why I always start seeing someone. I just can't be on my own for too long, you know. Then, I realize that they're not the one that i want, and I just can't go on. I can't. So, I know. Everything goes to shit when I realize they're not right, that I don’t fit in their life like they don’t fit in mine. So, I work my ass off and I put records out and I try to move on and to stop thinking that i’ve lost that one person that was mine but it's all still a working process and i won't lie about it. You're not the only one who's messed up, okay?”

Harry's looking at his own hands, splayed over his thighs, head bent like a remorseful child. Liam can't even say _Louis just told me the same thing, you know_ , because the one reaction that snaps inside of him is just to hold him close, almost closer than when they were at the airport, because fuck, he loves him and he deserves the world and it's hard being unable to give him that and also more.

“Let's go get you some breakfast. It's too early for this kind of heart to heart, mh?” he murmurs against his curls, before smacking a kiss against his forehead and letting go.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what to say. In my mind, I wrote this fic a thousand times, planning every little detail. I know my characters, I know what I want for them, I know where they're going to end up and how. In reality, it sucks so bad i wanna cry.  
> I decided to post this first chapter mostly so I could move on and work on the /real/ plot.  
> Please be patient and keep in mind english is not my first language.


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